Breakdown
by PandaFire McMango
Summary: Mimi can't handle the stress of of Angel slowly dying...Roger has to help her. No character death, but sad...oneshot probably, and rated T for language.


Roger wearily trudged up the sidewalk towards the Cat Scratch Club, his hands jammed in his pockets. Smoggy fumes from some car or taxi wafted towards him, making him cough. As Roger cleared his throat, he passed a large shop window, its surface gleaming in the dusky light. Roger glanced towards it and was surprised to see that it was clean; so clean, in fact, that he could see himself reflected in it. A tall, tired-looking man with flattened-spiked blonde hair and a scraggly muzzle of a beard. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, and his stride was mushy, like he was sleepwalking. Roger rubbed his eyes and looked away. This whole fucking mess had taken a toll on him. On all of them.

The familiar lights of the Cat Scratch flashed in front of him as he turned the corner. Roger ran a hand through his hair to try and make it look more like hair and less like trampled blonde grass. Judging from the way his hair had been acting lately, it would do a thing to make it look any better. But he did it anyway, because it felt familiar. It was what he used to do.

He passed the large entrance for customers and walked over to the small alley next to the building, where dancers went into the dressing room without any harassment. He had been inside that door before, to bring Mimi back to the loft, to tell her something that Angel wanted her to know, to just be with her at times. Now he was going to get her to take her to see Angel in the hospital. How times change.

Roger was one of the few men who were allowed backstage. Mimi had probably begged hard enough to send the manager into Psyche Ward. He hoped that she was ready to go. Being late for Angel was something that Mimi _hated_.

Roger twisted the cold metal handle and went inside. The stuffy interior of the dressing rooms were down at the end of a hall that curved a few times. Roger moved down the corridor and entered the familiar space. Only something was different. Usually the dancers, Mimi included, were moving around getting into "uniform" or putting on various makeup. There was always a lot of hustle and bustle, but now everyone was clustered in one corner of the room. Some of them were dressed; some only had only bras and underwear on. From the worried sound of their blurred voices, Roger guessed that someone or something was going wrong.

"Hey…what's up?" Roger asked as he walked towards the group of women. One of them turned around; it was Laura, a friend of Mimi's who Roger had met a few times and liked well enough. She was a tall, sassy blonde, with a take-no-shit attitude. But now she looked scared and nervous, like an explosion had gone off right behind her. Her expression when she saw him changed from relief to worry to something like pain.

"Roger! Oh my god, I'm so glad you're here! It's Mimi, she…she got sorta—"

"Mimi? Oh god, what's wrong?" Roger felt his chest seize up, and he pushed past Laura into the center of the group. Girls were jostled out of his way until he could see just what they were all looking at.

Mimi was sitting on an old wicker chair, leaning back with an exhausted look on her face. She was pale, terribly pale, and her limbs seemed weak and stick-like as she brushed a strand of brown hair out of her eyes. She was dressed in her normal clothes, but her coat had obviously been put on by someone else, and her makeup was half removed. A dancer whose name Roger didn't know was offering her a glass of water.

"Mimi! Shit, what wrong? Are you okay?" Roger leaned down, taking her hand and squeezing it. Mimi jumped and stared up at him, looking like a trauma victim. Then she threw her arms around him and pulled him tightly to her. Roger knelt so that he wouldn't fall forward and let her hug him. She was shaking badly.

When she let go, he pulled back and said worriedly, "Girl, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just a little…tired," Mimi said, her voice hoarse. Another friend, a tall black girl named Delia, shook her head and put her hand on Mimi's shoulder.

"Man, she went right down, just as she was getting her face off. Got all pale and wobbly, then next minute she's on the floor, gasping for breath. We got her up and into the chair and then she woke up. Boy, I work part-time as an assistant to this doctor on 108th, and I think she's having a stress breakdown. Every day she comes in tired and thin and looking goddamn awful. Whatever she's doin', it's not good for her."

"Jeez, Mimi, I can't believe…can you stand? Because when you can, I'm taking you home." All the other girls nodded in agreement with Roger, but Mimi looked stricken.

"Roger, I'm going to see Angel, you know that. And yeah, I can get up, so lets' go." Roger got up and put a hand on her back, helping her to her feet. Mimi seemed very weak, but she could stand. The girls parted for them as he helped her walk towards the door. Delia moved with them, shaking her head.

"Get her home, hear me? Give her something to eat and make her rest, cause there ain't no way she's gonna be okay if she keeps this up."

"Thanks, I will. Bye." Roger just wanted to get out. His heart was pounding, and her felt like he was drowning. Mimi collapsed…oh god, this couldn't happen, not to Mimi too. Roger tightened his hold on her and they walked out the door.

"Ok, so the hospital is a short walk from here, and—"

"Mimi, you're going home! Look at you, you can hardly stand or talk! There's no way you're going there like this."

"Roger, no! I promised her I would go see her!"

"Mimi, Angel wouldn't want to you to collapse if it meant seeing her! She'd want you to feel okay, you know that. C'mon, let's get you home."

"Please, Roger, I can't just—oh shit!" Mimi suddenly burst into tears. She turned and buried her face in Roger's chest, hands clenching into fists that beat weakly against him. All he could do was hold her as close as possible while she cried herself out, the pain and grief of Angel's impending death slowly unlocking itself from the box she had kept it in.

"Shhhh, shhhh, just calm down," Roger whispered to her, he kissed the top of her head and felt her sobs gently quiet, her juddering shivers slow into a final stillness. And they just stood there for a moment, trying to take comfort in each other; trying to keep these hells from sending them spiraling into a pit.

Almost five minutes later, they pulled apart and started walking towards the loft.


End file.
